My Fall Will Be For You
by Jenn1984
Summary: The emotional break down of a hunt gone terribly wrong. Spoilers for season two.
1. Chapter 1

This is the second Supernatural story I've ever written in my life. I write in this format when I'm feeling particularly emotional, but I hope you enjoy it nonetheless. I appreciate any feedback you might have to offer!

Sam's POV will come when I get my lazy butt in gear and write it.

Thanks to MusicalLuna for betaing. You're my favorite Lu!

**Disclaimer**: I own nothing.

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_I feel so…_

Hot. Blinding pain rips across my chest as liquid fire burns it's way down my body. An inhuman scream is ringing in my ears and seconds later I realize it's my own.

_I feel so…_

Disoriented. I stumble backwards against something hard when my legs can no longer support the seemingly dead weight my body has become. I slide down and try to focus on something, _anything_, yet my eyes and mind continue to grow hazy.

_I feel so…_

Distant. Blinking slowly and heavily, I stare with blurred vision at the claws before me, glowing red and dripping with blood. I hear my name but can't react, so I just watch as the beast raises his deadly paw, prepared to finish the job he's started. Then, in a flash of red, he wails and turns his attention to a new target. I watch from a million miles away.

_I feel so…_

Panicked. With glazed eyes I turn to watch the fight unfolding before me. Savage nails tear into the arm of someone familiar, but I'm unable to figure out who. He shoots again, missing the animal and hitting the tree in front of me. The hint of silver sparkles in the wood and my mind flashes with memories of research, fights about splitting up, my brother. Fear rises in my throat and I cry out in an effort to release my suffocation.

_I feel so…_

Frustrated. Pain and lucidity return as I try to push myself up with strength I don't have. I twist around slowly and see Sam groping for his gun, the furry son of a bitch standing on top of him, trying to sink his enormous teeth into my little brother's neck. The lump in my throat grows thicker and the sense of urgency I'm feeling is pulsing through my veins with excruciating ferocity. I have to help him, I have to _save _him. Why can't I move? I need to _do_ something! He'll be torn apart if I don't do _something_!

_I feel so…_

Useless. Fingers twitch and brush against something hard. I glance down and notice my gun, empty of bullets, and an idea strikes me. With my remaining strength, I grab the weapon and throw it at the bastard's head. His glowing eyes turn to pierce mine. A dizzying rush of relief that Sam is now out of harm's way swarms my head and mingles with a wave of fear as I'm now completely vulnerable to anything this harsh animal decides to do to me. I have nothing to fend him off with. I'm completely defenseless. _But Sammy's okay_, I hear my father's voice whisper in my ear. And he's right.

_I feel so…_

Heavy. The beast is advancing slowly and I brace myself for his imminent attack. He raises his lethal white paw, poised to strike when a loud _crack_ sounds in the distance. The foul thing screams and my ears are ringing as he falls in a lifeless, bloody heap beside me. The sickly sweet smell of his blood reaches my nose and I moan; it's over, and Sam is safe. As long as Sam is safe. My eyelids close and I feel a pair of gentle, steady hands firmly grasp my cheeks. "Protect me, Dean." Sam. Sam needs me. The weight of my father's words hangs heavily on my shoulders and I try to grab my brother's arm, try to hold him. I need to feel him, I have to _save_ him. That's all that matters. He doesn't know, but that's all that _matters_.

_I feel so…_

Cold. Sam hurriedly takes off one of his shirts and wraps it tightly around the deep wounds on my chest. A hiss of pain escapes me, his hands falter, and I can see them trembling. I want to say something, to comfort him, but I can only seem to focus on my injury, on the _throbbing_. My chest is on fire, burning, _scorching_, yet I can't stop shivering. My teeth are chattering, my bones frozen and aching. "It hurts, Dean." Sammy. He lifts me, pulls me along, in pain. He's in pain! I'm hurting him, God, I'm _hurting_ him! I try to push away, to stop the suffering I'm causing. Unfocused eyes dart around for something to grab onto, something sturdy, solid, but my cold, shaking hands can't seem to grip anything they touch. "Dean, stop! Dean!" And I fall back into my little brother's arms.

_I feel so…_

Weak. Still shivering, I allow myself to lean against Sam, his unsteady hands holding me tightly. I want to tell him everything is going to be alright, but even my mouth is too weak to function. I can feel my brother lowering me into the backseat of my baby and I don't protest. He checks the wounds on my chest, and I lightly brush him away. He huffs, says something inaudible, and slams the door. It seems like seconds later when we pull up to the motel and my brother is quietly pulling me towards one of the beds in the room we've rented. I can barely keep my head up, but Sam holds it gently, guides my body down smoothly, always conscious of my wounds. I want to thank him, to tell him I'd be lost without him, that I _was_ lost without him, but my lips refuse to move. I'd sure as hell regret the moment of weakness later, but right now he needs to _know_, and I can't _tell_ him.

_I feel so…_

Alone. I'm Lying on the bed shaking, moaning, _cursing_. Sam is apologizing and shushing as he's poking, prodding, cleaning the wounds and it's _torture_. I grit my teeth, bite my lip until the tangy, metallic taste of blood assaults my tongue. A comforting hand rests on my balmy forehead and Sam's hot breath blows against my ear as he whispers something. "Have to leave." My stomach knots, my chest aches, my mind protests, but his hand slides off my head and the door clicks shut. What have I done? I've pushed him away, I've lost him. Too much of a burden; a broken, bloody, _worthless_ brother. How did this happen? How could I have let this happen? Blinking rapidly, the room is swimming even more than before and I can barely breathe. My lungs are burning, thirsty for air, yet I can't comply, I can't give them what they want. I can't breathe, can't think, can't _move. _I try to call out, "_Sammy"_, but I'm alone. He's gone.

_I feel so…_

Sick. My stomach twists, pulls, as I roll on my side and start heaving over the edge of the bed. I can taste more blood, but I don't care. Nothing matters anymore. I've let down my father, my brother. Sam. I'm a _failure_. Pain torments my entire frame and spots dance before me. I've lost. I've lost everything, and it's all my fault. Stomach lurching, I gag again, tears prickling the corners of my eyes and leaking slowly down my cheeks. I roll to the other side of the bed, feeling dizzy, and lose what little balance I thought I had, but I don't hit the floor. I can feel myself being pulled back up and into a tight embrace, familiar, soothing arms wrapping securely around my sore and aching body. "I'm here, Dean. I'm here." Sammy. My Sammy. Instantly the shaking eases, the pain simmers, the nausea ceases. Something cool is placed on my forehead and I hear my little brother whispering more assurances beside me, never breaking contact. I grasp his hand as tightly as I can. I can still save him.

_I feel so…_

_Tired._


	2. Chapter 2

So here's the second point of view. I hope you enjoy. Thanks to everyone who was so supportive of this story.

I would suggest going back and reading Dean's point of view again before reading this one, as Sam's point of view brings a different perspective on some of the dialogue.

**Disclaimer: I own nothing.**

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_I feel so…_

Angry. Eyes narrowed and jaw set, I tighten my hold around the warm metal of my gun as thoughts stray to heated arguments with my brother.

_I feel so…_

Anxious. The light _crack_ of a twig snaps my attention back to the hunt for the deadly Amarok. I remember research, how the beast hunts lone human hunters, and again my mind sees Dean, alone and vulnerable. He'll be pissed later, but I wasn't going to stay by the car.

_I feel so..._

Terrified. An ear piercing scream splits the night sky and echoes in the wood. I can feel my blood freeze with ice cold, bone-shattering fear. Dean. Forcing down the fiery acid that bubbles in my throat, I take off in the direction of the sound, will my legs to go faster, push _harder_. God, please, don't let me be too late...I _can't_ be too late!

_I feel so..._

Determined. I'm running, panting, _breathless_. Heart racing, adrenaline spiked, I can feel my head swimming, _throbbing_, as I close the gap between myself and the Amarok. He raises an enormous, red-stained paw and I try to resist the nausea once again. Gun aimed, I cry out, unable to control the mounting emotions within, and pull the trigger hard enough to split the skin on my finger.

_I feel so..._

Powerless. The creature turns sharply, a feral wail errupting from his lungs and those harsh, intensely red eyes burning through me so fiercely I stagger back. It's growling, stalking, but my attention shifts to Dean's slumped form, glazed eyes trying hard to focus on the animal next to him. My heart pounds, my heart is racing, _exploding_, and I don't have time. Another shot, but the beast pounces, rips into my arm with sharp, pointed nails. I miss, I drop the gun, I _yell_.

_I feel so..._

Helpless. Cold fingers barely brush the handle of my gun, my lifeline, before I'm pinned to the ground by a massive furry weight. My breath is stolen, my lungs robbed of fresh, sweet air, but I keep my focus. I have to keep myself focused. The beast is on top of me, his stale, hot breath moistens my neck as he tries to puncture it with his fangs, snarling, glistening, _monstrous_. I'm trying to push away, blood oozing down my arm, when something crashes into the side of the Amarok's face. Immediately he turns, a low, gurgling growl vibrating through his body. _Dammit_ Dean!

_I feel so..._

Shaken. No, no, _no_! Still slightly dazed, my head swirls, my vision blurred by matted fur. The beast is moving slowly towards the only person in my life who still matters and I'm not moving _fast_ enough! I roll, I crawl, my gun just a few feet away, yet _miles_ away. Grabbing tightly, I forget the pain, ignore the dizziness, and jump up. I Aim, shoot, and the creature finally falls to its death just seconds from its intended kill. My brother. My broken, bloody brother. He's still, framed against the rough bark and, God, he's not _moving._ I'm beside him in seconds, collapsing to my knees. Gently, trembling, I grasp Dean's bruised face and I curse his ridiculous need to keep me safe.

_I feel so..._

Flustered. "Why do you always feel like you have to protect me, Dean?" His eyes flutter open with a soft moan and the burning knot in my throat eases slightly. I claw at my blood-stained shirt, ripping it off as quickly as I can and begin wrapping it snugly around the jagged tears in my brother's chest. He inhales sharply and I pause. I hate when my touch hurts him. Pulling up, we begin the short trek back to the car, his groans painful to listen to. "I know it hurts, Dean." Then he jerks back, he pushes, _thrashes_, and I don't _understand_. "Dean, stop! Dean!" My voice is sharp, alarmed, and my hold tightens around him as I search for something, _anything_, in those frantic glassy eyes. The focus isn't there, but he stops resisting after I yell.

_I feel so..._

Relieved. With a little effort, I manage to lay Dean in the back of the car and check his wounds. Of course he shoves me away. "Stubborn bastard." The gesture is oddly comforting, yet I still shut the door harder than I intended. Once back at the motel, I begin the less-than-pleasant task of patching up my older brother, careful not to upset his wounds as I lay him on the lumpy bed. His chest is shredded and I grimace at the sight as I peel the torn shirt back, soaked through, sticky. Anger, remorse, _guilt_ are mingling with my blood, running through my veins, pumping through my body with every beat my heart makes. "Shhh, Dean. Calm down, it's alright." And still the comfort rests on the outskirts of my thoughts, Dean cursing while I dress his wounds. Something normal. Consistent. _Familiar_.

_I feel so..._

Defeated. Light floods the stifling motel room through the torn blinds on the window, illuminating my big brother. His face relaxed, sweat dripping onto dampened sheets. I settle against him, place my hand on his forehead, wet, _steaming_. Fever. Leaning low, I quietly explain, "I have to leave, but I'll be back in a few minutes. I'll be right back, Dean." I fill a bucket with ice water and run down to the office for some extra towels, quickly retracing my steps back to Dean. When I open the door, I nearly drop the soaking towels. Dean is twisted, body splayed across the bed, blood dripping from his mouth. "God!" I throw the bucket on the table next to the bed and grab him, try to _soothe_ him. "I'm here, Dean. I'm here." The tremors start to ease and his muscles relax as I assure him, calm him. I place a cool towel on his head and he closes his eyes, breath slowing, everything back to normal. Yet how is this _normal_?

_I feel so..._

_Lost._

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Thank you all. I'd love to hear your thoughts and/or critiques.


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